


Throose week drabble

by Thehairshirt



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thehairshirt/pseuds/Thehairshirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU drabble for Throose week, relatively SFW, might add another quick chapter if people would be interested, basically I just wanted to contribute something!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throose week drabble

Theon groaned, his tongue feeling dry and swollen, and reached blindly for the glass of whiskey he knew was probably still on his dressing table. He took a sip, and thought for a moment his body was going to rebel against the alcohol and force him to vomit, but it subsided. He was sitting up now, and in the pale morning light he saw that he was not alone. There was the sleeping shape of a woman next to him; Theon did not remember her name, but knew he fucked her a lot judging by the soreness of his cock. 

He swung himself out of bed, pulling on his jeans and throwing a jumper on. Despite chain-smoking the night before so much that he felt like an ashtray, he was craving a cigarette, and knew he had none left. He checked the time on his phone. 5:23 am. He yawned, pushing his feet lazily into shoes. He knew the convenience store down the road would be open, and he stuffed his wallet into his back pocket, pulling on his jacket. He poked the sleeping form on his bed and whispered.

“Hey I’m just going to buy smokes, I’ll be back in a minute.”

The sleeping girl murmured incoherently back to him, her voice heavy from sleep and copious amounts of alcohol. 

He exited the building down the dirty concrete stairs that were painted with a thick layer of grey paint that was chipped in the corners. He bounced down the last step out of the building onto the street. The sky was a dark grey, mirroring the concrete slabs of the buildings around him and the dirty pavement he walked on. He walked a block, and then ran across the empty road to the convenience store. He blinked and held his head as his eyes strained under the harsh neon lights, and he barely managed to grumble his incoherent request for cigarettes to the incredibly bored attendant. He left, instantly tearing open the packet and fumbling in his jacket pockets for a lighter as he quickly crossed back across the street. He swore to himself when he realised that he must have taken it out of his pocket.  
“Need a light?” A voice asked from behind him, and he turned on his heels.

“Yeah thanks man, I –“

The rest of Theon’s sentence was replaced with a yell, muffled by the hand that clamped over his mouth. He felt cold steel against his throat and stopped yelling, his heart pounding so fast he thought it was going to explode. He was now face-to-face with the man, a slimy fucker with lank black hair. He had a twisted smile that made Theon’s stomach drop.

“Come along now.” He said, his voice frighteningly cheerful.

Theon let himself be lead, knife still on his throat, walking backwards into a side street. He cried out in shock as he was suddenly pushed hard into the truck of a car. He curled his limbs inward instinctively as the man stood over him. Theon shuddered as the man pressed the tip of the knife to Theon’s stomach, and pulled a thin cord out from the trunk next to him. Theon tried to kick his legs out when the man’s hands reached for him, but he received a hard blow to the groin in response, and he curled tighter, groaning in pain. The man bound him, and Theon began to sob to himself as the door of the trunk closed over him.  
Theon tried to memorise every turn the car made, as if somehow he could miraculously escape and follow the same route home again. He kicked against the boot of the car, hoping he could open it, but to no avail. He screamed for help, but the only reply he heard was from the man who had taken him.

“Be quiet back there, you’re so distracting.” He laughed to himself, in a way that was vile even muffled by the sound of the car engine. The combination of fear and the alcohol in his system made Theon want to vomit.

By the time the car had finally stopped, Theon had lost count of the many turns it had made. He shielded his face feebly with his hands, bound together by the wrist. The man pulled him to his feet, knife still at the ready, and pressed it against Theon’s back.

“Inside.” He ordered, gesturing to a decrepit-looking warehouse that lay before them. There were shipping containers around, and Theon could smell the sea. They had driven a longer way than he had thought. At first he walked to the great rolling metal doors, but then his instinct to flee took hold of him, and Theon turned, bolting away from his attacker, arms still tied, screaming incoherently. He tripped and fell, ripping open his jeans and breaking the skin on his knees.

‘That’s it.’ Theon thought to himself as he stumbled from his knees to his feet again. ‘That was my fatal mistake, and now I’m going to die because I tripped over.’

The man grabbed him roughly, knifepoint against him once more. His ugly face twisted into a smile.

“You’re spirited, I’ll give you that.” He said, and led Theon into the warehouse.

The warehouse itself was bare; it looked as though years ago it was used for receiving goods from shipping containers to be sent out again by trucks, but now it was almost completely empty, save for a single, cheap metal chair in the middle of the room. The floor beneath it looked stained with blood. Theon trembled as he was lead to the chair and forced to sit, bound again around his stomach and legs. The man stood back, brushing away a strand of greasy black hair and smiled to himself, admiring the sight of Theon struggling in the chair. The man took a phone out of his pocket, and quickly typed something into it, pocketing it again at once. 

“What are you going to do to me?” Theon asked, his nerves obvious in his voice.

“It’s not so much as what I’m going to do with you…” The man said, pulling on a glove he had removed to use his phone. “…You’ll see, wouldn’t want to lose the surprise, would we?”

Theon sobbed, “Please, I can get you money –“

“I don’t think that’s what he is after though.” The man said with a smile. “Oh, I can hear his car pulling in now.”

Theon heard the crunching of a car rolling over bitumen, and then quick paces towards the still-open door. The man also had slick dark hair, and his skin was a pallid pale colour that almost let off a sickly glow. His eyes were cold and pale too, a dramatic contrast to his hair. Theon thought the two men must be related, although this one was at least 20 years his captor’s senior. 

“Why is his knee bleeding?” The man asked in a deep commanding voice, eyeing Theon as though he was a man trading cattle.

“He tripped when he was trying to run. I swear I did nothing to him dad, he’s all yours, just like I said.”

The man walked up to the chair, and looked down at Theon with a cold indifference. “Did my son touch you?”

Theon trembled, his mouth felt strange as though he were unable to form words anymore. His silence was met with a slap, hard enough to split his lip. Blood dribbled down his chin.

“Answer me. Did my son touch you?”

“No.” Theon whispered, blood spilling from between his lips. 

“Good, because he isn’t allowed to, and if he does you can tell me.” The man replied.

“What are you doing with me?” Theon asked again, feeling weak and as though he was going to vomit.

“I’m going to make you mine.” Roose Bolton said, with a cunning smile.


End file.
